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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28199097">Coupon Book</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/toastedtofu/pseuds/toastedtofu'>toastedtofu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hunter X Hunter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, HRT, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of illumi, Needles, Trans Alluka Zoldyck, Trans Killua Zoldyck, needles mention</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:14:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,589</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28199097</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/toastedtofu/pseuds/toastedtofu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Killua wants to move forward, but he keeps getting stuck in the weeds. With the help of Alluka's cunning, and Gon's weed whacker, they ensure that he can manage to have a successful Christmas with the ones he cherishes most.</p><p>Rated T for Killua's potty mouth and mentions of blood.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>KilluGon "A Gift From Me To You" Holiday Event</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Coupon Book</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, Killua is ftm in this fic. I largely based his and Gon's relationship off of my own personal relationships, so there's definitely some projection there, but that's why this fic is important to me. There are also mentions of needles, dysphoria, blood, etc.</p><p>A special thank you to my wonderful betas for both their assistance and encouragement:</p><p> </p><p>  <a>WordsbyMarcy</a><br/><a>Tele</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     Illumi once told Killua that he couldn’t categorize Gon— he was simply too brilliant, too dazzling for him to make sense of. He feels that way now, hiking a man-made trail east of his apartment. It’s much too cool to hike today, but Gon’s metabolism is ridiculous and Killua needed an excuse to get out of the apartment which is currently full of Alluka’s shrieking classmates. When they tried to rope him into their silly game of truth or dare, he knew it was time to go. </p><p>     So instead, he’s stuck listening to Gon point at every single type of plant native to this side of the city and which were imported, bought, or stowed away from neighboring towns. Well, he shouldn’t say stuck. It’s a relaxing venture, albeit cold. Yet, there are little things today: the dark fuzz beginning to concentrate on Gon’s upper lip, Gon’s quickly broadening shoulders, the vibrating bass beginning to take over his voice. He’s even catching up to Killua height-wise. It’s cruel, among other things; attractive in every sense of the word. It’s something Killua can both admire and long for all in one breath. </p><p>     While Gon is growing, Killua has simply plateaued or maybe dropped off into nothing. The things he admires about Gon, he cannot obtain without moving forward. This would be obtainable if he were not stuck in the weeds with each step he takes. He rubs a thickly soled hiking boot on the rough ground, listening to the wet snap of broadleaf plantain break apart beneath his feet; if only he could do the same with memories. To hear the wet crunch as they break away from his reality and seat themselves back into his mind, laid to rest in the frozen dirt beneath him. Instead, they’re alive and well, infesting his thoughts without the help of fresh rain or a suitable environment. </p><p>     Even Alluka has left him behind at this point, taking the plunge into hormone replacement therapy with arms wide open. She’s like that though, unafraid of anything after being told she’s nothing while simultaneously being everything and more. So of course, the time came when puberty blockers had served their purpose for her and they each found themselves in a sterile office, cold pleather sticking to the backs of his thighs. Up until their point, he’d avoided getting his blood drawn or having his body poked and inspected by strangers thanks to Leorio. But, his reach only goes so far. Alluka came out of her appointment with a vial full of estrogen, smiling so wide that he could barely tell if it were Alluka or Nanika waxing the brilliant grin. Killua, on the other hand, left empty-handed other than a hefty bill after having electrocuted the hard metal seating and unsheathed deadly fingers, pointed straight towards the soft, vital jugular of the patient nurse. She waited at least thirty minutes before uncapping the needle. His nails ripped through the still air in an instant. </p><p>     It’s not like there weren’t other options. Patches, pills, promises. Leorio begged Killua not to weaken his degraded liver with the pills; the patches often left his skin midday, unsuitable for his line of work not to mention the incessant itching and his absolutely terrible absorption rate. Alluka, on the other hand, showed results in months. They taunted him quietly; reminders that he is both a terrible big brother, not even strong enough to assist Alluka with this journey and also a taunting song that demonstrates-- what? Progress? It isn’t something that can be broken down into something tangible and measurable like progress. It’s the out of body, crushing disappointment he feels when he wakes and witnesses that the Killua reflected in the mirror is not the one of his dreams. It is something as simple as watching Gon take his shirt off at the beach and wishing to do the same. What it is not is sickly purple nen encompassing every needle he’s laid eyes on since he was 7, yet the phantoms of purple have lingered still long after he and Illumi’s separation. In some ways, Illumi was right. Everyday things require a filter for him to digest; the satisfying quiet after a long day of nothing leaves him antsy and restless, the heat of Gon’s palm in his own licks fear into his sides as if he awaits the day one of them will be thrown back into a purposeless war. And still, needles, regardless of the use of gyo, regardless of whether it is a plain simple hollow sterile needle, will send Killua’s nen combusting needlessly through his fingertips, burning Alluka’s favorite carpet, electrifying his body so aggressively that the lights blow a fuse. Because yes, he has tried on his own after Leorio said he wouldn’t order him a script only to go back on his word. However, not without some much needed convincing on both his and Gon’s part. It was one of the few times Killua is positively grateful for Gon’s inability to say no, the unforgiving push of his puppy dog eyes, and his brow set in a way that promises that no is not a word used in his universe. Still, his efforts were fruitless. </p><p>     And even now, on Christmas Day, he finds that he needs another filter; the reds too red, the white lights too white, Gon’s hectic smile too smiley. His body smiles back before his irritation sets in. The irritation easily replaced when Gon’s gift bag topples over from a haphazard rip, sending fifty some Chocorobots scattering across the freshly cleaned tiles of Leorio’s kitchen. Kurapika almost spills his coffee stifling his quaint laughter with a hand. Killua can’t stop laughing either, especially when Gon’s futile attempts to hide his gift with the splintered bag result in more loud rips of paper, his fuzzy reindeer socks making it difficult to steady himself on the kitchen floor. </p><p>     “Well, I think we know who you got for secret Santa, Gon.” Alluka snorts, holding onto Killua for support. </p><p>     “This isn’t fair at all,” Gon points, still scooping up chocolate with the help of Leorio. </p><p>     “What? As if I didn’t already know when you not so subtly text me which kind of tread I liked?” Killua teases, swiping up the newly packaged skateboard wheels. They were decorated with blue streaks of lighting set against a whitish opaque background. He grinned at his best friend who beamed in response. </p><p>     “It’s okay, Gon. Now we can start secret Santa. ” Kurapika chimes, having recovered from their laughter. </p><p>     “Well, if we’re starting then this is my formal submission that Gon is my secret santa.” </p><p>     “We know, Killua,” Leorio says, picking at Killua because he can, because it’s Christmas. </p><p>     “Glad you could catch on, old man,” Killua retorts without missing a beat. He claims his seat between Gon and Alluka on the beige corduroy couch. He’s slept here many nights and can appreciate the frayed decorative pillows. Leorio could very well afford to get new ones; he just doesn’t. </p><p>     “I think Killua is my secret santa,” Alluka announces, scribbling Killua’s name on their makeshift list in dark graphite. </p><p>     “What makes you so sure about that?”</p><p>     “I live with you. You’re not as sneaky as you think,” Alluka challenges. </p><p>     “We’ll just have to see, then,” Killua snarks knowing fully well that they both know she’s correct. </p><p>     “What about you, Kurapika? Gon says, sliding the list over to where Kurapika sits flush against Leorio’s thigh. Gon’s handwriting is illegible as always. </p><p>     “Hmm,” they hum. “I have no idea. What do <em> you </em> think, Leorio?” They look pointedly at the taller man, eager to exploit cracks in his facade. He’s always been a pretty terrible liar; he and Gon have it honest.</p><p>     “Well, like Killua said: we’ll just have to see,” Leorio grumbles, suddenly interested in the Charlie Brown Christmas episode airing in the background. Alluka muted it twenty minutes ago, now. “Anyway, what’s the point of guessing if everyone already knows!” Leorio complains, swiping the list from Kurapika. </p><p>     “So we can see what everyone got!” Alluka says, bouncing in her seat. She pokes Killua with a bony elbow. He responds by looping her arm with his own. </p><p>     “Okay, well I guess I’ll go first since everyone already saw,” Gon says, pouring the bag of fleshly organized Chocorobos onto the coffee table along with the expensive wheels, personalized stickers, and fleece socks with cats. </p><p>     “These are so <em>cute</em>,” Alluka says, claiming the socks as her own. Gon figured she might. Finally, Killua can take the time to properly marvel at his gifts. “Say ‘ <em> thank you,’</em> Killua.” Alluka chastises with another bony jab. </p><p>     “Yeah,<em> Killua</em>,” Gon tacks on as if the two are conspiring against him. But, when are they not? </p><p>     “Killua is too edgy to say ‘thank you,’” Kurapika teases. Now, it’s Leorio’s turn. </p><p>     “Anyone else have something smart to say, or should I go next,” Killua blurts, shoving a pretzel in his mouth with more force than necessary. True to Alluka’s suspicions, Killua pulls a gaudy hello kitty bag from his satchel, presenting the contents like a good big brother would: string for making friendship bracelets, nail polish, skin care, and as if that were not enough, an obviously expensive bracelet that decorated Alluka’s wrist elegantly. </p><p>     “Killua,” Alluka breathes, amazed as she rummages through the pink bag, rubbing the fake fur across her cheeks. “This is, this is-- This is why the bank called me to make sure no one had stolen your debit card,” Alluka screeches, holding out her wrist. “You are a good big brother. So dumb but so good,” she continues, her voice softening as she reaches out to pat Killua’s head with slender fingers.</p><p>     “Alluka, it's your turn to go next,” Kurapika urges, fiddling with an electronic ornament that meant to single Christmas carols. Killua winces as the cheap plastic crunches under Kurapika's fingers.</p><p>     “No, no, no. I’m going last. Leorio, you go next!” To the surprise of none of them, Leorio had pulled Kurapika’s name. He removed luxurious ties from his bag, pressed and folded into a professionally boxed silk setting along with a framed photo and him and Kurapika. </p><p>     “Wow, Leorio, this is—”</p><p>     “Gay,” Killua finished for Kurapika. For that, he earned a smack with his own (Alluka’s own) cat socks. When it came time for Kurapika to present his secret santa gift, even if Killua had very little to say. They were all much too invested in seeing how Gon would react to the booger colored, misshapen vase Kurapika pulled from their bag. Gon, of course, took it in stride. </p><p>     “Oh, Kurapika, this would be perfect for flowers,” Gon beamed, smiling at the blonde who beamed back at him.</p><p>     “He’s gonna break that in less than a week,” Alluka whispered to her brother. </p><p>     “I give it three days,” Killua whispered back. They had learned through trial and error that it was best to let Kurapika and Gon have their thing. Finally, this left Alluka, who vibrated in her seat knowingly. </p><p>     “I’m happy with whatever you could possibly bring me,” Leorio began, interrupted as Alluka stood from her chair, presenting a glass bottle filled to the brim with brown liquor, decorated in gold embellishments in a language that even Kurapika did not recognize. </p><p>     “Is that <em>booze</em>,” Killua practically hollered. </p><p>     “Alluka,” Leorio yelled, drowning out Killua’s concern as he scooped the teenager up in his arms. “You know the key to my heart!” Tiny feet dangled from Alluka’s green skirt of Leorio spun her around, narrowly avoiding the decorated tree that she and Gon had spent hours putting together. </p><p>     “Where did you get this,” Killua griped. </p><p>     “Aww, Killua, don’t be a grinch,” Gon teased, earning a sour look in the process. He threw his arm around Killua’s shoulders, a poor distraction. </p><p>     “I saved up, Killua,” Alluka explained when her feet touched the ground. </p><p>     “You’re fourteen.” </p><p>     “I have my ways.”</p><p>     “Your ways will wind up dead if they’re not careful.” </p><p>     “Don’t be such a stick in the mud,” Alluka whined, plopping down next to Killua to throw her arms around him as well. It was their first Christmas spent together that didn’t involve running for their lives, so he supposed he could lighten up a bit. </p><hr/><p> </p><p>     Late that evening when the festivities came to a close and a slurring Leorio retired with Kurapika on his heels, Killua and Gon were left stealing cake from each other’s plates. Alluka had had her fair share and slumbered on the couch, tucked away with a blanket brought from their apartment. Killua’s fork clacked loudly against Gon’s as he prepared his offense, scooping away the chocolate sprinkles decorating the edge of Gon’s plate. They each had a slice from the same cake; it just tasted better to steal from a loved one. </p><p>     “Hey, Killua,” Gon said, tiring from their game. He was never big on frosting. “I actually got you another gift. Is it okay if I give it to you now?” If Killua didn’t know any better, he would’ve placed a timid edge to Gon’s voice. But, timid did not place well on Gon. </p><p>     “I don’t see why not,” Killua responded, sucking the last big of sprinkles from his fork. It gave him something to focus on rather than the nervous edge that suddenly crept up his spine, dropping into his stomach. Why was Gon being shy? </p><p>     “Okay,” Gon replied, steeling himself. “So the thing is, on Whale Island, we don’t actually buy gifts from the store. There’s not even enough stores to get away with it because you’d know who made it immediately. Anyway, it’s kinda impersonal. So, we hand-make our gifts, and usually Abe would knit me a sweater or sew me a jacket, and I’m not really good with that kind of stuff, so I made you this instead,” Gon finished, shoving a tiny book into Killua’s hands with a pinched brow. “Alluka helped me make it,” he admitted sheepishly as he watched Killua ghost his pale fingers over the navy blue velvet cover. There was a square cut out at the center of the cover with a laminated photo of Killua and Gon front and center. It was one of the few photos they had of them together where they were both looking at the camera. </p><p>     “Oh,” Killua replied dumbly, suddenly aware of how close they were pressed, thigh to thigh and shoulder to shoulder. </p><p>     “Oh? You haven’t even opened it yet,” Gon responded, unconsciously feeding off of Killua’s nervousness. </p><p>     “Yeah, you’re right. You’re right,” Killua mumbled, opening to the first page. His nervousness dissipated in an instant as he took in the sight of a god-awful illustration and equally terrible chicken scratch marking the first page of his homemade gift. </p><p>     “Gon,” he rasped, not daring to meet Gon’s expectant eyes. “You’re not very good at drawing either,” he whispered before bursting into a fit of unrestrained laughter. </p><p>     “Killua, you’re going to wake Alluka up,” Gon whispered, slapping a hand over Killua’s mouth in a poor attempt to stifle Killua’s hyena laughter. His hands still smelled like chocolate frosting. Killua snatched Gon’s hand away from his face, hoping the low light emitting from the Christmas tree wasn’t enough to show his blush. They combed through the tiny book, Killua pointing out Gon’s terrible handwriting and making note of the various “coupons” Gon had offered for Killua to cash in on. One coupon offered a day’s worth of video game play, accompanied by a scrawled version of Killua and Gon sitting in front of a screen. Gon had used blue ink for Killua and green for himself. Alluka had obviously decorated this page, evident by the over-abundance of cat stickers. </p><p>     “Wow, you hate video games,” Killua murmured, meeting Gon’s eye for the first time since they began this exchange. Gon’s gaze made him feel infinitely small and larger than life all at the same time. He regretted looking, yet he couldn’t look away. </p><p>     “I hate losing,” Gon corrected, barely audible in the space they shared. </p><p>     “And you suck at video games, so you automatically lose,” Killua remarked, scattering the moment like the ornaments scattered the lights on the tree sitting just behind Gon’s head. It was too bright for him, too intimate. He longed to put space between their knees just like he longed to bury his face in Gon’s shoulder. </p><p>     “Yeah, but I’m okay with losing if it’s you,” Gon states matter-of-factly. He straightens. “Anyway, are you gonna finish looking at them this year? I’m getting sleepy,” he yawned, stretching his legs. Killua’s knee sat cold where they had broken contact. Like clockwork, Gon grew tired at 11pm. It was well past 11:30 now. </p><p>     “So bossy,” Killlua remarks with absolutely no bite. </p><p>     Killua flipped through the pages, mentally noting his favorites as he went along, occasionally adding a snarky remark here and there. When he reached the last page, he noted the lack of illustration, the block of text, and his eyes immediately landed on the last sentence. ‘I want to help with your t-shots,’ it read in black ink. </p><p>     “Gon, no,” Killua said, his stomach sinking like sediment in water. He shut the book with more force than he meant to. He cataloged through his innumerous excuses and emotions. Anger: at himself, at Gon, at Alluka who gave him no warning. A familiar stink of disappointment quickly dispelled his anger, much easier to mask. What could he go with instead? ‘I don’t want to rely on you, or anyone for that matter’ rang in his head loud and clear. </p><p>     “Killua,” Gon said firmly, interrupting Killua’s quiet, bubbling panic. “I don’t want to pressure you to do anything. I just wanted to let you know that I’m here, and you— well, you don’t have to do these things by yourself. Alluka told me about the rug.”</p><p>     “She did,” Killua replied on autopilot, renewed anger brewing under his skin, spurred on by hot, white embarrassment. </p><p>     “Well, it was hard to avoid explaining when I came over the other day and smelled it. Anyway, Killua, don’t be upset with her. It’s my fault.” Killua barely registered Gon’s hand placed carefully on his shoulder. “I didn’t know how else I could help.”</p><p>     “Don’t worry about it, Gon,” Killua spat, shrugging off his hand. </p><p>     “But, I do worry about you, Killua. All the time.” The way Gon says his name makes Killua want to crumble into a ball. They’re tip-toeing too many lines here. It’s hard to keep track between the fluttering feeling in his sternum, the rage in his gut, the tingling, aching feeling where Gon gripped his shoulder not long ago. “We could at least try,” Gon says, grasping at straws. “If you want to.” Killua doesn’t know what he wants. He still doesn’t know. </p><p>     “You really wanna try?” Killua hates how watery and high-pitched his voice sounds in his own ears. He can’t ignore the tiny spring of hope Gon always firmly plants into his skin. Gon tills his heart like fresh soil. Gon is always watering what grows there, even if they’re mottled and overtaken by weeds. Killua resents him for it. Killua loves him for it.</p><p>     “Yeah, I was thinking we could go somewhere in the woods, so if you nen flares up again, you won’t burn the carpet,” Gon rushes, almost tripping over his words to explain. </p><p>     “Let’s go now, then.” </p><p>     “What?”</p><p>     “Let’s go, now,” Killua practically snaps. He needs to ride this horrible adrenaline or he’ll never agree to it again. He needs to try while the concept is foreign, before his brain can make sense of how terrible an idea it all is and bring him back to reality and mull over Gon’s words like yesterday’s stew and picture all the terrible, horrible things that could happen. Killua rises from the couch. “Let’s go back to that hiking trail.” They don’t take a car, they use godspeed, partially so Killua can dispel some of the charge in case the worse happens and partially as a distraction. Killua, of course, had the prescription sitting in his bag. He doesn’t leave home without it. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>     The wind whips past their faces icily, as they skate through the city, Gon clinging to Killua’s back with firm hands. Even after they still their movements on the floor of the forest, Gon shivers, unaccustomed to winter on the mainland, still. Gon’s teeth chatter mildly. Killua represses his urge to shiver, remnants of his assassin training. </p><p>     “I’m gonna do some jumping jacks or something,” Gon says, moving away from where Killua stood incredibly still, struggling to pull his thoughts in the right direction. Here, in this moment and not in the future and not in the past. Gon returns shortly, smoothing hand sanitizer over his fingers which have stopped shaking by this point. </p><p>     “Okay, if you walk me through it, I can get everything set up,” he offers. Killua uses his nen like a flashlight, showing Gon how to get rid of the tiny bubble, how to measure out the testosterone with a needle, where to puncture his flesh. He never uncaps it. Gon doesn’t either. “Okay, I got this. And the one after this,” he adds, with a confident nod. Killua rolls his eyes, too weak to speak, but desperate to hang on to some sense of normalcy. As if they’ve ever been normal. </p><p>     Gon turns away when he uncaps the needle and measures out the thick, clear substance. It’s something Alluka has had to do for Killua on numerous occasions. Killua preps his skin himself, pulling down his pajama shorts just enough to expose his hip. He shudders at the feeling of the cool alcohol wipe running across his skin. </p><p>     “Okay, don’t look,” Gon says, approaching him cautiously. He has the needle hidden in his sleeve, so Killua doesn’t have to see it. As soon as he crouches down, electric nen crackles to life, narrowly avoiding Gon as he falls on his ass. It’s involuntary, even without looking, he can see it, the unforgiving metal puncturing his skin, Illumi’s pallid skin, the quiet hush as Illumi reminds him that it’s for his own good. </p><p>     “Don’t come near me,” he chokes, tasting bile on the of his tongue. “Don’t touch me with that thing.” He’s mildly aware that his stance is closed, prepared to subdue, the claws of his forefinger and middle are unsheathing before he can react. He pulls them back, puncturing his own skin in the process. “I <em> told </em>you,” he spat. He hadn’t told Gon everything necessarily, but he was seeing it for himself, now. </p><p>     “It’s okay, Killua. We can try again when you feel better. We can just talk?” he offers.</p><p>     “About what?” Killua spits venomously.</p><p>     “Anything. Do you remember when we met Bisky?”</p><p>     “Bisky?” </p><p>     “Yeah, don’t tell me you forgot. Remember, she tried to join us, and you sent her away. We didn’t even know anything then. Remember when you went to the casino and wouldn’t leave? She knocked you out, and I had to carry you back.”</p><p>     “You carried me?” Killua questions, the details are a bit fuzzy until he remembers the smell of Gon’s sweaty skin pressed into his chest. He’d pretended to sleep after waking midway through the trip. If Gon knew, he never said anything. He doesn’t say anything now, either. </p><p>     “Yeah, Killua, you were kinda heavy for a twelve-year-old. What were the Zoldycks feeding you back then?”</p><p>     “Poison.” He says it like it’s a joke. They both know it’s not, but they laugh like it is anyway; Killua’s is short and clipped. He watches Gon’s eyes crinkle like they do when he smiles, when he laughs. </p><p>     “Killua, I would never hurt you. Ever again.” Gon blurts. “But, also, I don’t think I can do this for you. I think it has to be you, Killua.” </p><p>     “Gon, I already tried that,” Killua says, throwing down his hands. He smears the small traces of blood on his thigh. </p><p>     “Not with me, you haven’t.” </p><p>     “Yeah? And what are you gonna do?” </p><p>     “Talk to you like before,” Gon explains as if it’s the most simple thing in the world. </p><p>     “Talk to me? You think that’s gonna solve everything?”</p><p>     “No, but it could help,” Gon continues, growing much too enthusiastic for someone who was ready to fall asleep less than an hour ago. “I’m gonna put this in your hand now, and I’m gonna tell you where to stick it.” Something about the determined glint in Gon’s eyes makes him want to ride those shallow roots of hope Gon had planted into his skin earlier than evening. The roots dig into his chest, nestling fondly, fighting ardently against the overgrown weeds mingling in his memories. </p><p>     “Okay,” Killua agrees. He can feel Gon’s warm hands grasp his own and place the syringe in his cold fingers. </p><p>     “Don’t look. Look at me,” Gon urges after he closes Killua’s fingers around the icy instrument. He offers a smile, brilliant even in the limited light of the moon, his cell phone, and the tiniest bit of nen. Even so, Killua can feel an edge of panic wash over him. It must be evident on his face because Gon leans closer. </p><p>     “Do you remember when we went to Whale Island, and you met Kon?” Gon asks, guiding Killua’s hands not so subtly to the meaty part of his hip. Killua stops their movements, trying to focus on the cloudy memory. “Remember you thought he was gonna eat me, and I said ‘that’s my best friend.’ Then, you got really mad and said-”</p><p>     “I thought you meant a human,” Killua finishes, offering the tiniest smile back at Gon. “Yeah.” He knows they’re incredibly close to his skin now. Closer than he’s ever gotten on his own. </p><p>     “That was probably the most fun I’ve ever had in my life,” Gon admits, “We should go camping again and see if we can find constellations again, like that day.”</p><p>     “You found constellations,” Killua says, his voice cracking painfully as the needle punctures his flesh. His nails unsheath and cut through the fabric of his coat, but he keeps his eyes trained on the constellations mapping Gon's skin. It doesn’t hurt, only in his memories, but he stills anyway as Gon plunges the liquid into his muscle. “You found them all, and I let you even though I knew where they were.”</p><p>     “Why did you let me?” Gon asks, removing the needle with careful hands. It does sting on the way out, but it’s out. </p><p>     “Because you looked so excited,” Killua breathes, finally allowing himself to press his face into Gon’s shoulder. It’s warm, smells like the earth, like Gon. “You looked so proud to tell me about them, that I didn’t have the heart to tell you that I knew.”</p><p>     “I just wanted to impress you, Killua. Like the way you impressed me,” Gon whispers into white hair, holding him close. Killua feels like every single piece of his was fried by his own nen, leaving him breathless and susceptible to the cold. He allows himself to shiver as well, allows himself to ache and cry in the secrecy of Gon’s warmth, in the privateness of the night. </p><p>     “You know, when I carried you on Greed Island, I knew you had woken up midway through the trip. I just wanted to hold you,” Gon states. </p><p>     “Shut the fuck up. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”</p><p>     “Just like you didn’t know about the constellations.”</p><p>     “I hate you.”</p><p>     “I love you, too. And Killua?</p><p>     “Yeah, Gon?” </p><p>     “Merry Christmas.”</p><p>     “You, too. Merry Christmas.” </p><p>
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